Fine. Life sucks. You are unhappy with your chosen career. You hate your job, your co-workers ignore you, you boss is short from being a slave driver who has, on occasion, called you a nitwit. You were never a popular person. I mean, you have lots to say but the words just don’t come out right. When you talk you sound scared, insecure, stuttering. You speak softly, and no one can hear you. It’s awkward. It’s embarrassing. You take the crappy bus to your crappy, tiny, stingy apartment. Nobody to call. Not a boyfriend or girlfriend, or anyone who gives a crap about you. (Of course, there’s always mom, but wouldn’t that be the cherry on top of a fantastic evening?). You open your old, smelly fridge, and get yourself a frozen dinner from inside. As you lean down to pick up the fork you just drop, you feel your love handles folding on top of each other. Oh, that’s right, you’re overweight and, though not entirely ugly, severely unattractive. Nobody would look at you twice on the streets. You might as well go wearing a Pikachu mask that they won’t stare at you long enough to realize you were walking as a Pokemon character. You take a bath. Closing your eyes, since seeing your body in the shower, slightly disgusts you. You get out. Put on a t-shirt and shorts and stare at yourself on the mirror long enough for your chubby face to stop making sense. So you sigh and go to sleep to start it all over the next day.
You say to yourself, I can’t change. This is who I am. These are the cards that were dealt. Bad luck, you might add.
I should end it all. No more reason for enduring this any longer. I should kill myself.
You SHOULDN’T endure it any longer.
Sell your things, send everyone to hell, say everything you’ve always wanted to say with the firm resolve of knowing you’ll never see any of those bastards again, cash all that you’ve saved during your dog years working for THE jackass, and take off.
What was that you’ve read on E2 about being a violin player? Go for it.
You’ve loved the beach but could never afford it? Open a little restaurant by the beach with a side room and live in it. Befriend the locals and expand your business.
Painter? Musician? Librarian? Transsexual? Whatever you feel like doing. Do it.
Kill your old self and start a new life.
Isn’t it ironic?
The weightlessness of suicide, with the perks of living.